


Our House of Cards

by X_Kartoffel_X



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Horror, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9618185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Kartoffel_X/pseuds/X_Kartoffel_X
Summary: “We seem to feel as though the life our children have is... held together by the most intricate balancing of all its carefully selected components, and that the slightest shock, the slightest jar to all our perfect orchestration, will bring the whole edifice crashing down.”  ― Judith WarnerA fic set immediately post-game, following the rescue and recovery of those who survived the night. Eight friends ventured up to the Lodge at Blackwood Pines, but only five ever returned; and those who made it until dawn must live with the knowledge, guilt, and horrors, that came into their lives throughout the events of that night.Warnings for: graphic descriptions of violence/gore/horror, mental trauma, etc.





	1. The Hour of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to do a character study fic, I guess! They're one of my favourite things to do; exploring character motive, character behaviour - how events shape and change certain people, whether for better or for worse. 
> 
> I picked the survivors that I did because I think they create an interesting dynamic. There's different levels of closeness and distance between them, some of which is created in that one event alone. Some, we barely saw interact in-game at all, and so it was also a challenge to myself to imagine what it was that brought them together in the first place. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fic, dear reader, in any case! Please be aware that this is a fic which is going to deal with mental trauma, the effects it has on the sufferer, and those around them. There's mentions of gore, gory imagery, and other such general hoo-ha you'd expect from a horror-game based fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves.” ― Leonora Carrington

"Ma'am, please calm down." The orange rays of the days first light are only just beginning to creep over the mountaintop; barely beginning to filter through the pine trees that give this place its name. It's far too early for this.

"N-no, no, no, no... where's... where's Chris? Where's Sam? I-Is Mike okay? He got out right? He was right behind me, I swear. I _swear_. He got out. He had to get out."

"Ma'am, we'll talk about your friends in a moment." Procedure dictates that you have to calm a panicked person first; get their breathing regulated, their heart rate down. "You're hyperventilating. I'm going to have to ask you to please calm yourself, and take a moment to breathe-"

"N-No you don't... I need... C-Chris... _Chris_!! O-oh god, oh god _, oh god_..."

"Ma'am, you're very likely suffering from shock right now - and with that black eye, you could very easily have a concussion." Blackwood Mountain Rescue officer Tanner's tone is strained; tired, as she attempts to reel off the by-the-book spiel she knows like the back of her hand. It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with such hysteria, especially outside in the blustering wind and the biting cold, yet here she was; knee deep in the snow, breathing in smoke and ash from the charred remains of some stuck-up millionaire's lodge, trying to calm down a shrieking teenage girl. Freezing her ass off, in the process. They didn't pay her enough for this. "I'm going to need you to pull yourself together - Ashley, wasn't it? - take some deep breaths, and let me examine you for injuries. Is that alright?"

She's wringing her hands as she hums in response, elbows wrapped tight around her knees as she rocks back and forth, shaking her head; a stream of incoherent ramblings tumble from her lips. The tears staining Ashley's cheeks merge with the blood and dirt splattered there, sending little, murky droplets of crimson down onto her neck. Tanner tries not to stare, or grimace at the state of her. When she had honed in on the girl, she had done so because she had looked the least injured; the easiest to deal with, so early and ill prepared the team was. Their last call out had been to deal with a hiker who had panicked upon assuming he had seen a bear on the track ahead, and had gotten himself stuck in a tree trying to hide from it. That had been three months ago... Blackwood County was not a busy jurisdiction, that was for sure. Tanner couldn't even begin to recall the last time they had faced such a dilemma; missing persons, like the Washington sisters, were one thing. But people went missing in the mountains all the time, hikers too inexperienced to know the dangers, or people who ventured too far off the tracks. But _explosions_? Panicked calls about killers and psychos? A gaggle of teens, covered in dirt and grime and blood, all insisting they had been hunted by some monstrous creatures? That was something _entirely_ different.

"Ma'am, _please_ -" The wringing of Ashley's hands is worsening - they move to cradle her head in one moment, then return to trembling before her knees in the next. Each breath is ragged, more haggard than the last, and it's almost a wonder that she is still conscious at all, hyperventilating as badly as she is. Manic. In a state of shock. Tanner would have to note that in her report later. "Look, why don't we move somewhere a little warmer and quieter, huh Ashley?" This approach is new - one reserved, usually, for children lost in the wilds. It's enough to get her to stop muttering under each hasty breath, at least. "That's it. Nice and slow." Tanner slips an arm around the girls trembling shoulders, and lifts her onto unsteady feet. "We'll get you inside, and warmed up, and then we can talk and I can get a proper look at you, hm?" 

The helicopter isn't far, and Tanner figures that if she can just get the girl inside it-

"Ash!" The panic in the tone startles both women, and Tanner almost loses her balance - catching herself just before the pair of them tumble headfirst into the snow. It's like they're being rounded on by a wounded animal, as the blonde teen Tanner sent Smith to tend to - Chris, she had learned from Ashley (one of the few coherent sentences the poor girl had been able to utter) - comes limping hurriedly towards them. His voice bounces up and down, interrupted by pained groans as his injured ankle struggles to support his weight. Even so, the trembling under Tanner's arm worsens, and suddenly Ashley is free of her grasp, stumbling quickly as she can towards the approaching boy. It's the fastest and most determined movement she has offered since the rescue crew had arrived, and Tanner is a little too taken-aback to react. Simply watches, as the pair rush at one another; Chris barely manages to limp across the remaining two meters that separate him from Ashley before she tumbles into his arms and the pair of them sink down into the snow, shaking; grasping at each other. Her desperate hands find the front of his jacket and grip tight, pulling her close to his chest as if to envelop herself in him. Chris's larger hands find her back, her hair, and tangle themselves there, as he tucks his head into the crook of her neck - breathing in, and out - grounded. 

They do nothing more; it appears to be all they need. Something to hold onto. Closeness. The reminder that they both survived, Tanner supposes. That they're both okay.

She might have been moved, if she wasn't two times divorced, and jaded as all-hell. Instead, Tanner shifts her gaze over the entangled pair, finding her co-worker hurrying towards them. "Smith, I _thought_ I told you to watch him?" She gestures the sight before her, shaking her head in disapproval. Smith sucks in a breath.

"It's not my fault, boss. One second he was quiet as the grave - thought he was in shock or something, could barely get two words out of him, or get him to stand up - then he sees you moving _her_ ," Smith nods at Ashley, still encased in his charge's arms. "And it was like someone lit a fire under his ass. Couldn't stand the idea of being separated, I reckon..." Smith pauses, contemplating them both, and Tanner scoffs at the sentimental look in his eyes. "Can hardly blame 'em, can you? After a night like this..."

"Don't tell me you're _buying_ their story?"

"Boss," and for the briefest of moments, Tanner thinks Smith speaks with all the conviction a person in his position ought to. "We got two kids battered and bruised almost beyond recognition over in the mines, and these three," he glances from the pair entangled before them, to the blonde - Sam, Tanner recalls - being examined by their colleagues, and back again, "Let's be honest, looking like they've been through hell and back. Heck, they're probably all catatonic at the _least_. We got pig carcasses strewn all over the place, a decapitated body out by the shed... and one blown up Lodge." Smith glances away from the pair, now sobbing weakly into each others jackets, and raises a brow at Tanner. Her scepticism wavers under the surety of his gaze. "You tellin' me you don't believe even _one_ word of what they've told us?"              

Tanner takes a moment of pause - glancing from Chris and Ashley, bloody and bruised and helplessly holding onto one another as if they might not get the chance again, to Sam. Covered in scrapes and cuts, grazes and worse, she barely seems aware that she is being tended to. Hardly reacts when offered help to stand, or a blanket to warm her frozen limbs. 

Sighing, Tanner shakes her head, reaching for the radio on her belt.

"Blackwood County Police station? This is the Mountain Rescue crew. We're going to be bringing in some kids to the station soon - they've... it's been a rough night, sir. You might want to hear what they have to say."

* * *

Ash is gripping his hand so tightly that Chris can't feel his fingers any more, but it's not as if he minds; he's gripping back just as hard. They haven't once let go of each other since the Blackwood Mountain Rescue team bundled them on board the helicopter over two hours ago, and have no intention of doing so any time soon; Sam had watched them, eyes blank, expression lifeless, from her seat across the way. She hadn't spoken a word to them since they had gotten out of the lodge, and Chris was beginning to wonder if she was going to talk again at all. She must be doing so, he figures, else they wouldn't be taking so long in the interrogation room; a cold, windowless space which the officers had almost immediately dragged her into. One glance at Chris and Ashley, and the officers had seemed to deign that Sam was the better choice for interviewing; Chris couldn't blame them for the assumption, looking at the state of them. Exhausted, bodies trembling from the cold, the adrenaline. The Blackwood Pines County Police station had offered them a cold and sterile welcome, as they were carefully bundled out of the helicopter, and into the waiting room at the back of the building. Though the blankets they had been given by the Mountain Rescue crew remained warm, if coarse, the cold plastic chairs offered to them by the awaiting police officers were less than comforting. The coffee, provided in polystyrene cups, was bitter and unpleasant. Ash had forsaken her cup after only two sips, which Chris and the rescue team had urged her to take; immediately disposed of it once they had been left alone, in favour of pulling her chair up alongside Chris's. She had tucked her knees up to her chin - despite the difficulty of doing so on such a small chair - and let her head rest on his shoulder. They are still sat in the same position, despite how long Sam's questioning has dragged on.

Whether it is because they are too tired to move, or simply don't want to be further apart, is something neither of them dare to wonder.

Chris stretches his fingers slowly, idly glancing at the clock. Five more minutes and Sam would have been gone for an hour. The clock, standard white, the kind you would find in a public school, glares down at them both from above. The ticking is incessant, but he can hardly focus on anything else. The officer working the reception desk - a man who seemed to have forgotten what a smile was, or how to manage one - had suggested they attempt to get some rest before they were called into their own interviews, but neither of them can seem to sleep.  

Chris can't stop thinking about everything that had happened that night. Sitting down - sitting still and giving himself time to really _dwell_ was probably the worst thing that could have happened.

Perhaps it is finally beginning to sink in that Josh might in fact be gone; there's this numb ache in Chris's chest, like he's lost something that made him who he was. Lost something important. He can barely remember what his life was like before his best friend had been in it... Only... only, it isn't _just_ that Josh is gone. Nothing is ever so simple; it's betrayal, too. _Loathing_. Seething hot white beneath his skin and in his very bones. So deep that it's almost impossible to tell that it is there, unless he looks for it... and part of him is afraid to search for too long. Doesn't want to feel it too keenly. To never be able to let it go, even if he knows, already, that he never will. Josh had betrayed them all - had honestly done those horrible things to them without pause, without sympathy... and _why?_ Chris could - maybe - begin at least to understand why he would want to punish those who had been involved in the prank of one year before, but...

He had held no part in that; had barely spoken to his friends for months, once he found out what they had done to Hannah, save Ash and Sam. He had been there for Josh as much as his best friend would allow... it wasn't always much, but he had _tried._  Tried so hard to be supportive and be the friend Josh needed, and despite all of that - all of the unrelenting loyalty he had shown-

It feels as if someone has smeared angry red over his memories; weekends spent talking about nothing and everything. Nights cooped in their rooms playing video games. Years of feet kicking the back of each others chairs in class, and pinging elastic bands at each others ears. Endless summer breaks, scout trips together, tormenting their fellow campers with ghostly noises in the night. The weeks Chris spent calling Josh after what had happened, even though he so rarely answered the phone. Trying so hard to drag him out of his room, to get him out and enjoying life again. Trying to be a good friend. Trying to show Josh that, despite what he might think, someone would _always_ be there if he needed them.

And all of it had meant _nothing_.

Josh had never once asked for help, and now it was so very clear _why_ -

He can't do this. Ash feels cold against his side, and it's something he can put his time and focus into. He shifts his arm a little; an offer to let her shift closer, should she want to. He doesn't push or demant; doesn't have the energy in him to do so, anyway, but she makes a little noise, and shuffles closer, tucking herself into his side. Her hand squeezes his, and maybe... maybe that makes it all feel just a little easier.

The one, tiny good thing to come out of the horrors of the hell they had just lived through.

He had lost so much. So, so much... but he could hold onto this one small gain.

The bundle of blankets and auburn hair beside him shifts; his hand instinctively tightens its grip for fear that she might leave. The only response is a soft mumble. "...How much longer do you think they'll be talking to Sam?" Ash's tone is weary, tired and frightened even now. She hasn't stopped trembling since they escaped the lodge, keeps muttering to herself and talking a little too loudly and hurriedly when spoken to. Chris has heard a lot of murmurings of 'catatonic excitement' and 'mental trauma', from both the rescue crew, and the police who greeted them on the helipad. The officer working the front desk of the station glances through the waiting room window as he passes with his third cup coffee since their arrival, and Chris grips Ash's hand that little bit tighter. He doesn't like the way he's looking at her.

"I dunno... maybe... maybe they're almost done." His words come out slowly, like it's an effort; Chris shifts a little, glancing down at Ash. Her beanie is stained with dirt and god knows what else, but she flat out refused to remove it, or her bloodstained hoodie, when they arrived at the station, despite arguments that the blood was beginning to reek, and wouldn't be helping her to calm down. She simply shifted back, away from the reaching hands, and shook her head. He hadn't asked why. Still hasn't. Perhaps he doesn't want to know. Perhaps it's too much effort, too much of a strain, to formulate the words; to properly express the concern behind them. He feels heavy. Worn out. As if his brain is flat-lining despite all his effort to keep on going. But she's still expecting an answer; eyes wide and searching, so he does his best to muster one from somewhere inside of him that can still manage rational thought. He hopes that it's enough.

"Maybe it took them a while to get her talking." It made sense, considering how closed-off she had been once the rescue party had arrived, but Chris also knew that Sam and Mike had seen... more. Seen something down in those mines. Something that Sam would now dare not mention. Not to them, at least. Maybe to the authorities... he hoped so. It was one thing to spare her friends from the horrors she had seen – but these people might actually be able to help... to do something about those things up on that mountain. “She didn't seem to good...”

"Y-yeah. I mean if something was wrong we'd have heard by now, right? Someone would have... would have said something. Definitely...” She trails off again, half-formed words uttered under her breath as she inhales and exhales unsteadily. Reassurances. Repeated over and over. He wants to ask if that really helps at all, muttering to herself like that, but the words don't come. All he can do is keep hold of her hand.

Movement suddenly sounds through the open waiting room door; a call of _'jeez, more of them?!'_ , as several officers rush by the window, towards the door leading out back. Ash sits up against Chris's side, and squeezes his hand tightly. Her eyes dart from officer to officer, unsure of who to follow. "Do... do you think they found Mike?" Chris holds his breath for a moment, and does not voice the concern that's been building in the pit of his stomach like bile all morning. Ever since he spotted Sam, rushing from the lodge alone. Ever since the search and rescue crew had only noted three survivors at the lodge when they radio'd back to base... ever since Sam's silence had become deafening. "O-or maybe Matt? I-I know Em said he was with her on the tower and he jumped so maybe-"

Another officer rushes past – a new face – from somewhere deeper inside the building, and Ash watches his every move as he vaults past the window.

"Maybe." It seems cruel to agree – to give her too much hope. To give himself too much hope. All Chris knows for sure is that none of them need to see another friend dead today; his free hand moves slowly, so slowly because he has to force his brain into gear just to move his own limbs. It finds Ash's shoulder, ready to pull her close and protect her from the sight of any more of their friends dead and gone. One officer returns; their front-desk champion, with a smile as warm as the plastic seats they've been ushered into. He stands, lurking by the doorway; glancing in at them briefly with that awful excuse for a smile forced upon his features, and Chris watches him closely. He glances at them wearily, then back towards the door past the window, just beyond their sights. The door to the helipad outside. His expression does not lighten, smile gradually fading as sounds begin to echo closer. Like an instinct, Chris pulls Ash as close as he can. "Close your eyes, Ash."

"Wh-what? _Why_?"

"Just close your eyes."

She doesn't. It doesn't matter. Two black bags, zipped tight to the tops, are wheeled solemnly past the waiting room window atop metal trolleys; the rubber wheels creak and groan, sticking against the linoleum floor. The officers wont look at them as they push their way towards the dark corridor, beyond the interrogation room. Ashley is screaming. Chris doesn't know when it was she stood up. Doesn't know when she let go of his hand or ran to the door, but Ashley is screaming, and he doesn't know what to do. The officer from the front desk has her by the shoulders, both to push her back, and keep her upright, as her legs give way beneath her. She sinks to her knees, gripping at the arms of his jacket, shrieking and screaming. Over and over. _'No, no, no'_.

Like a mantra. As if she says it enough times, she'll be alright, and it won't be true.

Their friends wont be dead. Cold atop those metal slabs.

Chris doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know what he's supposed to do. The officer has his hands in Ashley's hair now; pats at it gently as if to be comforting. But his attention is elsewhere - cast over his shoulder, to the colleagues still outside. They're discussing something, but for all the screaming, Chris isn't sure what. All he can do is put his head in his hands, and mumble to himself, as if it is some small comfort: "It's okay, Ash. It's gonna be okay."

* * *

 "That'll be all, Miss." The cold white light that has been blinding her for the best part of an hour is gone; replaced with warming yellows overhead. It does little to make the room more welcoming, though Sam doubts that is the point. "Officer Wilson here will now escort you back to the waiting room. Wilson, bring the other young lady through next, will you?" Their efficiency reminds Sam of hospital doctors; surgeons who are numb to their practiced trade. The horror of its reality. The only sign she saw to let her know that these people felt anything at all was the quizzical quirk of their eyebrows, as she told them to go down to the mines, and see what she had seen for themselves; told them that they _needed_ to see it. That they couldn't possibly understand what they had all been through - what had happened to them - until they did so. Empty eyes had followed the sudden, practiced swirl of pen on paper as they quizzed her on directions - where exactly within the mines they would need to go, to find what she and Mike had found? What did the cavern look like, where Beth's body had been buried, and dug up once again? Were there any signs that Hannah was still alive? Had she gone mad, alone for so long, perhaps? Was this 'creature' simply their friend, driven insane by grief? When Sam had refused to deny the existence of the Wendigo, they simply pried further for any features about the route that seemed notable; 'we'll be sure to look into it', they had said. Beyond that, her words had seemed to bluster against an invisible brick wall - meaning nothing to them, beyond the ramblings of some disturbed girl who had let her imagination run wild after a series of unusual and - if they could allow their belief to stretch that far - disturbing events. 

The light on her face had been far too bright, and they kept asking about Josh. _Over and over_. Had she known he was taking medication? Did he speak of his sisters often? How soon had he learned about the prank that had ended up costing him his closest relatives? How did he react when he found out? Had he seemed normal, sad, or uncharacteristically happy in the weeks leading up to the Lodge trip? Were he and Sam involved? She figures they have already decided this is all his doing; he went crazy, after what happened to his sisters. A lot of people would. Went crazy and blamed the friends who had pushed a drunken prank further than they should have. He scared his friends, took a joke too far in turn. Hurt people in the process. Hurt _himself_ , in the process. The Wendigo - the Stranger - the Sanatorium... all of that had simply been the by-product of over-excited minds. Kids getting too caught up in Josh's little scheme, and believing it all-too easily. It was just part of his game, and they had played it. Been sucked into it. _Believed it._

They had asked her if she had been drinking, that night; if she or the others had taken anything else. Anything _recreational._ In response, she had simply told them _again_ exactly where to go. Where to go, if they wanted to find Josh, and see how true their theory about his ' _game_ ' was, but even so... odds are, they won't bother looking. She isn't foolish enough to believe that they would. Perhaps if enough of their stories matched up-

A twisted smile tugs at her lips, and had she the energy, she might have laughed. But then, Ash and Chris hadn't seen what she had. They didn't _know_.

Wilson pulls at her arm, gently, urging her to stand, and she complies silently. Shrugs off the thermal blanket he offers her because she doesn't feel the cold anymore. She isn't in shock. It's not that, not at all. She's just... done. That's all. Tired and worn and finished with all of this. They'll be here for hours still, she knows; maybe longer. After what she had just told these people, she knows that they will want to keep her under observation. Under lock and key. But she doesn't want that. She wants to go somewhere - far away - just for a while. For long enough that her mind can make real sense of what had happened. Come to terms with it all. Deal with it, and allow her to decide where to go from here. What she wants to do, and why.

All she can think about is the idea that more of those things exist, out there in the world; more than anyone might imagine, and no one is doing anything to stop them. To keep them at bay.

She wonders, as Wilson escorts her to the door, if she will ever have a restful sleep again, knowing that.

By the time Sam finds herself free of the interview room and back inside the mildly more comforting confines of the waiting room, Chris and Ashley have fallen asleep in the corner furthest from the doorway; all despite the early morning light filtering through the shuttered blinds, and the patter of noise that flickers around them from passing officers, hurrying around the station and attempting to deal with an unexpected situation. Somehow, they have managed to stuff themselves into the space between the shoddy plastic chairs, and the wall. A safe space, surrounded on almost every side. Sam feels a little more secure in her paranoia, witnessing its effects on others in turn. Ashley has ended up practically sat in Chris's lap; his chin is tucked atop her head, arms cradling her. It takes Wilson, still escorting Sam, several attempts to bring them around to the waking world once again, but Sam can hardly blame them for being exhausted.

Ash is groggy when she awakens; dazed and confused as to where they are. Her voice tremors as she speaks, all incoherent mumbles. Chris still seems like a shell of himself; slowly blinks into the waking world, and barely bothers to observe the room. His gaze finds Sam, and perhaps there's a brief flicker of relief there, but he does not rush to move. The best he offers is a gentle touch to Ash's waist, helping her to stand when she suddenly stumbles to her feet, realising that Sam has returned.  

Sam doesn't return the hug that Ashley's shaking form bestows upon her, but perhaps she wasn't expected to. When they pull apart, Ashley scans her features as if seeking something there; tearful eyes searching for some emotion they are currently devoid of. Comfort, perhaps. Confirmation that they had survived, that they were alright... that this had all indeed happened, and wasn't some crazy dream. That Em and Jess and Matt and Mike might still- Something stings at the corner of her eye, and Sam suddenly finds herself blinking back tears.

"The-they... the _body bags_... S-Sam, you were there, you saw Mike- he got out, right? He did, didn't he?" Chris has stood up, now, and his hand finds Ash's shoulder, as Sam begins to shake her head. No - _no_ , she had moved. She had _moved_ and the Wendigo... Ashley stares at her, face white beneath the spattering of blood which stains it. "You cant... but Mike was right there, Sam! I- We saw him, he was-"

Wilson wastes no time. With an air of professionalism, he steps forward, prying into the small space the two girls have created between themselves. He addresses Ashley. "Ma'am, I need you to come with me. We have a few questions."

Ash sinks back against Chris's chest, reaching for his hand once again. Sam watches him gasp it back so tightly its a wonder her fingers aren't broken. "I-I don't... I..." She glances between her friends helplessly; anywhere but at the officer. His hand is already on her arm, and in reality, they all know that this is not a request. Watching Chris give her hand one final, comforting squeeze, Sam can't help but wonder when Ash had suddenly become so _small_.

"Just a few questions." Wilson insists, as he forces a smile. It is likely supposed to be comforting, though it looks to Sam rather like the smiles one sees in hospital wards, when the nurses come to tell you a bad piece of news you would rather not know. When they come to break your heart, to batter your senses. "You can come back to your boyfriend when we're done, I promise." 

For once, neither Ash nor Chris flinch at the error. Neither tries to correct it. Neither denies, or defends.

Sam might have had the heart left in her to care, several hours before. But for now, neither the lingering touch of their hands, before Ash is led away - or the glance they exchange before she is ushered out of sight, and into the darkened interview room - mean anything to her. The sight of the snow still clinging to the tracks of her shoes means about as much.

The silence in the room is heavy, when it falls; Chris stares at her, silent. Waiting.

She moves, walks across the room and sits on the plastic chairs set against the far wall. His eyes haven't once left her. 

"Sam... if you need to talk, then..."

She stares at the clock on the opposing wall, and holds her breath.

She had done enough talking for today.

* * *

It's something else to focus on. Something to drag his mind free of the horrors that swirl around like a thunderstorm. That drown out all else. He's been staring through the waiting room door; down that seemingly endless corridor that they took her down what feels like so long ago now, wishing and willing for some - any - sign of movement. 

It's so much easier to worry about someone else, than to worry about himself.

Worrying about Ash is second nature by now.

Ash doesn't deal well, being put on the spot; certainly not under duress. Chris knows. Chris knows everything about Ash; how she takes her coffee, her order at McDonalds. How she can't sleep at night if she hasn't checked all the door and window locks in her room at least twice. How she broke her leg when she was thirteen, because Josh told her she could only hang out with him and Chris if she was brave enough to swing over the creek behind his house. How she hates computers if using them for anything more than typing up one of her stories, but tries her best to continue using them because Chris himself does and it gives them more to talk about. How she can get lost in a book anywhere in the world, amidst any outside distractions. He knows that the last horror movie she watched was _Sinister_ , sat next to him on his College dorm bed; had happily dealt with her hiding under his arm throughout the entire cinematic experience, and teased her relentlessly about it later when neither of them could sleep. He knows that she wants to be an author once she graduates from college. He knows that she bites her lip when she doesn't want to laugh too loudly, and plays with her hair when she's nervous.

He knows how much she regrets jumping on Em about the bite - how much she wishes she'd just held her tongue. Just waited long enough for the fear to ebb away and for her racing mind to work more clearly. How much she wishes Mike hadn't pulled that damn trigger. How every time she closes her eyes from now on, she'll see that gaping hole in Emily's face, staring back at her. How much she blames herself. Chris knows how much this night has damaged her, and knows she's unlikely to ever truly recover.

But then, it's the same for all of them.

There wont ever be a moment where he closes his eyes and doesn't see the face of the Stranger; that horrified expression of utter shock, as his head was sliced clean off his shoulders. Not a single dream that won't be blackened, distorted, by the image of gnarled and tangled limbs, spider-like and grotesque. Those bloodstained teeth and white eyes.

There won't ever be a single second where he doesn't hear Josh's incessant babbling in the back of his mind and wonder if they had been too harsh; imagine his screams of agony and pain, when those creatures dragged him away. When they _tore him apart_.

He glances up and down the waiting room, restless. It's been over an hour and a half, and still no sign of Ash. He wishes they could have gone in together - separation right now was a ridiculous notion. After all they had been through, to drag them all one-by-one into a dark, unwelcoming room and simply expect them to cope... he doesn't like it one bit, and the lack of any sign of movement is no comfort. Nothing to signal her return, or any progress in her interview. Just silence. Deathly and quiet. The clock on the wall ticks away, endlessly, whilst Sam remains still. Her feet don't tap, her fingers don't twitch. She barely blinks. It's like sitting beside a statue. The wry, hint of a smile that stains her lips is almost frightening; just tugging at the corners of her mouth... and for the emptiness of her gaze, it is undeniably unsettling. Turning his attention away from the image, Chris takes a deep breath; focuses instead upon the blinking light of the coffee machine just through the waiting room window, as he rocks slowly back and forth in his seat. The more he thinks on it... He isn't entirely sure Sam ever made it back from those mines at all.

 _Best not to think about it for now_.

Someone needs to change the filter on the machine, from the looks of it. The blinking of the little red light is relentless, flashing on and off. On and off. It's a wonder their never-smiling officer hasn't noticed it, yet... or perhaps, on reconsideration, he doesn't actually care. It might explain, Chris thinks, why the drinks they had been offered upon their arrival had been so bitter and unpleasant. He hopes that one of the officers notices - but then again, they have bigger things to deal with than making sure their charges have decent coffee. A hot drink is a hot drink. Chris thinks, at least, no one has offered them food yet; he doubts that he would be able stomach it. Doesn't even know for sure if his body would know what to do with it. Just watching Officer Smiles munching away at a breakfast muffin as he goes about his business is enough to make his stomach turn. Even from so far away, Chris can see the smattering of crumbs that tumbles across his desk with each messy bite he takes; one greasy hand swipes at them occasionally to clear his papers. Every so often the phone will ring at the reception desk, and their unsmiling officer will answer, mumble darkly, nod his head, and put it down again.

He never tells Chris or Sam what's been said.

Turning his attention back to the doorway, staring down the dark corridor that Ash was taken down what feels like an age ago, Chris keeps his gaze focused upon it. Adjusts himself in his seat, and fidgets. They had taken his phone off him as evidence when he first arrived, and he's feeling at a loss without it; nothing to busy his hands. Nothing to fixate on. It had been a comfort - something normal against the other-worldly, unreal horrors they had all been through that night. Even without signal, without WiFi, just having it at hand - being able to see messages in his inbox, apps on the screen, proof that there was _something_ left to go back to - had made him feel almost... himself. Now it was gone, his mind raced freely. It overthought and over-analysed, and it was all too much for his exhausted state to comprehend. 

His knees bounce a little as he continues to rock back and forth in his seat. He wants to get up. Go to where they've taken Ash, and bring her back to the group. Safety in numbers. She hadn't let him stay behind on his own, down in the passageways beneath the house - and he wants to ensure he offers her the same kindness. Wants her to know that no matter what, they still have each others backs. They shouldn't be separated - that much he knows. They were told to stay in the waiting room - he knows that, too - knows that leaving would be a violation of an order from an officer of the law. A criminal offence... but after everything that had happened- 

"Kid, we get it, you're worried, but can you sit still for five god damn minutes? I'm getting restless just lookin' at you."

"S-sorry officer. My bad..." With a nod to Officer Smiles - leaning over his desk with an expression as dark as his mood - Chris stills the incessant bouncing of his knees, and the rocking of his body, as he's told. Instead, he turns to Sam, away from the doorway, so he cannot fixate on the corridor, the machine... It's just a matter of having patience - holding out. If he survived that night, then this - this almost surgical waiting room, was nothing. Or _should be_ , anyway. Whether or not that turned out to be the case was another matter entirely... somehow, waiting felt like torture. 

The phone echoes again behind him, and Officer Smiles picks it up on the third ring.

"Blackwood County Pol- Yes, sir." 

His chair legs groan against the floor as he abruptly stands.

"Yes, sir, we've got the rest of the Lodge survivors here."

_The rest._

Chris's heart skips a beat as he looks up and across at Sam, who has finally shifted - raised her head to stare out of the window towards the officer at his desk. The wry little smile is gone from her features; her eyes finally appear to _see._  The hope in them is almost heart breaking.

 _Maybe Josh_ -

"Well, just how injured is the kid...?" 

He's scribbling something down; Chris can hear his pen scratching away at the coarse paper of his notebook. He cant take his eyes off Sam. Alert and ready. What for, Chris doesn't know. But it's the most alive she's looked all morning. "And the other one is fine? A few cuts and bruises... that's a relief."

Two. _Two more_. Chris feels his own fingernails biting into his palms as he stares at Sam; knows exactly what she too, is thinking. _Josh made it_. But the other... maybe Matt, too... they hadn't heard what had happened to him for sure - Em had been adamant that he had run off to safety and left her for dead when the tower collapsed. _So_ sure. Chris didn't know the guy all too well, but in this case - in this case, his relief washes over him like a wave. For any of them to have made it-

"Yeah, yeah - if you can drop them here in five, we'll get them set up in the waiting room with the others..." Scribbling, the sound of hurried feet. "Yeah, you can leave one of the paramedics here if you need to keep an eye on the injured kid." Sam sits up taller - tries to see over Chris's head, to the goings-on occurring behind. He can hear yet more feet moving now; more officers jumping into action, and finds a small voice in the back of his mind begging, _praying_ , that somehow Josh is one of the two. Maybe Mike, instead of Matt. Jess was already gone, Mike had said so. Matt had jumped from the tower when it tumbled into the mines, Em had said... sensibly, gears finally turning in his mind, Chris knew there no way could he have survived. Even if he had made it off the tower, the mines had been crawling with those creatures. Em had barely made it out herself. Chris isn't so optimistic to think Matt could have made it; especially knowing as little of the truth as he had known...

"Yes... yes, we've got officers out by the landing pad already, sir." The phone is slammed down, as the officer rushes to join his colleagues outside; plunging the building into an eerie stillness. Sam finally meets his eye and, for what it's worth, Chris wishes he could force even the ghost of a comforting smile. Wishes he could utter some words of reassurance. He hopes that she knows he wishes that, too.

It had always been Sam who picked him up and helped him onto his feet when things got rough; throughout problems at home that he could never mention to Josh (as if he needed the extra baggage), or when he got into trouble with other kids at school for being a smartass. The time she had to try and teach him how to play football, because Matt said he was built like a Linebacker and should attend try-outs... Or the time she agreed to attend Senior Prom with him, because he hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Ash in time and _'Come on, please, Sam, I can't end my high school career by going to this thing stag'_. Throughout that night, too; she had been there for all of them, to pick them up and save the day. To get them back on their feet, and keep them moving.

To keep them alive.

It's not something he wishes to think about - how things might have gone, had Sam not been there.

He wishes he could somehow return that favour. Maybe just having made it through the night was enough.

 _One less pang of guilt to weigh on her mind_.

He wants to say he's sorry about Mike. That he knows how awful it must feel because he left Josh out in that shed, and who knows what horrors his best friend had been made to go through, thanks to that-

No words come out of his mouth, and Sam just continues to stare at him; the two of them held in the silence that hangs like a curtain over them both.                                                                                     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for getting this far <3 Chapter 2 will be up as soon as possible~  
> In the meantime, if anyone wants a Chrashley song which fits them (most particularly post-game, it's helping inspire my writing for their scenes for later chapters so much~) check out Little Talks, by Of Monsters and Men https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghb6eDopW8I - it hit me like a punch right in the feels ;3;


	2. A Fine Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who would awaken the past? It shines like a sunrise and cuts like a fine blade.” ― Juliet Marillier

Matt had refused to let them take Jess to the hospital on her own; flat out forbade them from doing it, the moment the suggestion had been made by the Mountain Rescue workers who had found them huddled beside the mining tunnel entrance. Told them they would have to knock him out if they wanted him to go anywhere without his friend, and wouldn't  _that_  look just great on their rescue report. It was a risk, he knew - as he paces up and down the hallway outside the emergency room, he wonders how he managed to avoid being arrested there and then. Pity, perhaps. They had both been a sorry sight by the time help arrived - Jessica, a shell of her former self, and Matt, trying desperately to shield her from the elements, half-frozen himself, lips turning purple and frost in his hair. He's pretty sure he let his temper get the best of him, and probably threatened one of the rescue team when they suggested that there was no reason that he should not go ahead to the County Police Station without Jess  - that she was in safe hands with them, and he could trust them to take care of her. He doesn't fully remember - they had both been a little delirious from the cold. From what they had seen too, down those mines.  

After the creature had moved away, they had been too scared to go back into the tunnels. Not foolish enough to risk it, either. Matt had pulled Jess close, put her between the rock face and himself, as a windbreak, crouched low and out of the howling winds, with his jacket tucked around both of them. Kept his hands moving, rubbing circles up her sides and across her back, careful to avoid her injuries. It had seemed like the sensible thing to do.

The rescuers said that it had been a smart move; commended him for his quick thinking. Jess would have entered a state of hypothermia induced shock in a very short amount of time, otherwise, they had explained.

One of their rescuers gave him a firm pat on the back once they had Jess strapped safely into the helicopter. Called him a 'hero'.

He doesn't feel much like one.

Pausing in his restlessness to sit back upon one of the metal benches protruding from the hallway wall, Matt picks up the Styrofoam coffee cup the nurses had passed him a short time ago, and worries it around in his hands, none of the contents touched, though it's still hot enough for steam to condense in the air above. The nurse had told him to be careful holding it; fretted and fussed that he might give himself chilblains, if he wasn't careful. It had been so cold outside, they had insisted; advised he should wait a little while before picking it up. It's still warm in his hands, but he doesn't mind. Chilblains would be the least of his injuries. 

He wonders if Em is okay. That somehow she had survived the fall from the tower, somehow made it back through the mines...   _Somehow._  She was smart. So much smarter than even  _she_  knew; she would have made it, somehow. Gotten back to the lodge, gotten help, and gotten through the night. By the time they had reached the hospital, three more survivors had been confirmed by the rescue teams. The police waiting for them there had been eager to let them both know; all smiles and beaming pride. Celebrating the fact they would have a much smaller investigation to deal with, no doubt. Matt had asked if they were still searching for more, and the response was that this was the job of the mountain rescue team; they would have to wait for word. It wasn't as comforting to hear as Matt had hoped. One officer knelt down to Jess's level - meeting her gaze as she sat silently in the wheelchair that the hospital staff had insisted she sit in - and asked her ' _isn't that great news? Your friends are alright_ '.

She hadn't responded, and Matt had simply asked if they could continue on their way to get her checked over. Gripped the handles of the wheelchair tightly and stared the officers down. 

She was injured after all, is what he had said. 

The officers hadn't smiled at them in the same way since. Matt can see them now, eyeing him from the other end of the hallway, where they mutter quietly amongst themselves; check their radios, their pagers, every so often, and talk only in codes and jargon he doesn't understand. It's clear that they're only keeping an eye on him because they think he's going to bolt. That was obvious enough. He had refused to go ahead to the station multiple times now, had displayed aggression, aggravation... he was minimally injured, and obviously physically capable. These officers very clearly thought something untoward had gone on, up on that mountain, and didn't want to let him out of their sight. Matt has no plans to desert Jess like that, so they shouldn't be worrying so much; the two of them still had to get back to the others, and he had promised he would help her. He wasn't done yet. She wasn't  _home_  yet. 

He was going to see this through. Make sure she was alright.

One of the officers says something, and his colleagues laugh in unison, glancing down towards Matt's end of the hallway. He wishes he didn't have to sit here, under their scrutiny. Wishes he could have gone in with Jess when the nurses took her through those double doors, to check her over. Examine her from head to toe. He couldn't, they said. He wasn't married to her, or a relative, so it couldn't be helped. The nurse had quietly added that they were going to have to remove her clothes to check for internal bruising and bleeding, and any other possible injuries; her tone said it all, and Matt felt sick at the insinuation. She was sorry, she had said - and it had sounded sincere - but he would just have to wait. She was sure Jessica would be fine. He had understood, even if he hadn't liked it. Knew that it was important, that they needed to make sure nothing was amiss beyond the injuries they could already clearly see. Tried his best to not argue too much with the people who were only trying to help.

She had offered to check him over too, but he had felt - in fact,  _feels_ \- fine. He can walk and talk,  _heck,_  he can run if he needs to.  _Jess_  on the other hand... 

She had been such a wreck. Bruised all over, covered in lacerations - cuts so deep Matt doubted they would ever heal properly. Scarred for life, in more ways than one. Her jeans were stained with blood, feet cut and grazed and wrecked from running for her life down in those tunnels. Matt can still hardly believe that she was alive, after everything. She still hadn't told him what had happened, but it wasn't hard to piece at least some idea together, from the state of her. Some idea after seeing that _creature,_ whatever it had been.. _._

He hopes the police will believe her, when she eventually talks. When she tells them what had chased her in those tunnels, and torn her skin with scathing claws.

He hopes Em is at the station. She has to be. There's no way she couldn't be.

 _Three others_... he can't help but wonder who else might have made it. Josh was already gone - the psycho had gotten him first; Matt recalls how panicked, how  _disturbed_ , Ash and Chris had been when they came running out of that shed. All that blood all over Ashley. That ruled out one. _No Josh._.. it is hard to imagine that the third Washington sibling had, too, been lost on that mountain. Matt wonders how his parents will take the news, and quietly hopes he wont have to see them, when they receive it. He wonders who else - Ash and Chris had been alright, if shaken, but then they had gone back to the Lodge... Sam, too, she'd been alone in the Lodge whilst all of them panicked and worried outside, trying to figure out what to do. She was pretty capable - resourceful and quick thinking - but against a crazy murderer? Matt worries the cup around and around in his hands, careful not to spill the contents. Mike and Jess had been headed to the guest cabin, and looking at the state of Jess - her unusual silence - he was beginning to doubt that Mike had made it, in the end...

That ruled two out for sure.

He can't let himself think that Em is gone too. Em would definitely be at the station. Heck, even if she wasn't, it could just be that they hadn't  _found_  her yet.

Em was fine - Em was smart. Em would have made it through whatever life threw at her,  _that_  he was sure of. So sure-

The doors opposite him open, and the nurses are wheeling Jess back out and into the hallway. The worst of her injuries are now covered by bandages or butterfly stitches - barely holding some of the larger lacerations together, and... to Matt, at least, she honestly looks no better for the treatment she has been given. Her eyes are cast downward, unfocused, and the stark bruising around them leaves the lids heavy. Her gaze listless. He smiles at the nurses, even so. They smile back, and he hopes beyond hope that he can take that as evidence enough that they found nothing untoward about her injuries. It's a comfort even to him. "Can I take her from here?" The handles of the chair feel secure in his hands, and he mumbles a promise to Jessica that he won't let the police - already approaching on hurried feet - take her anywhere without him. 

Perhaps the weak little exhale he receives in response is a thank you; it's hard to tell.  

After a brief glance at the report the nurses offer them, the officers, seemingly satisfied, begin to disperse - some retreating to mutter into their radios, and others reaching for their keys, likely planning their return. "We'll radio back to the station, and let them know you're both ready to come over... Alright kid?" The officers all look at him as if expecting an argument, and Matt feels his hands grip tighter against the handles in response. He won't be goaded, and he wont be ridiculed. He smiles, and nods. "Your friends are there already, probably looking forward to seeing you both alive and..."

He likely meant to say 'well', but one glance at Jessica has him rethinking such a turn of phrase.

Matt doesn't care - Jessica was okay now, and she wasn't going anywhere without him.

"Sounds good. Lead the way, officer."

* * *

 

Ashley is a wreck when she comes stumbling out of the interrogation room; even more highly strung than before and feeling ridiculed, to boot. Holding her up by the arm, because not even the officers present trust her to walk on her own, Wilson tries to be comforting as he suggests she take a moment to gather herself before facing her friends. 'A breather', as he puts it. His pager had gone off, just over half way into the questioning; mumbled something into his partner's ear (something about hospitals, and 'sending them over', Ash presumed paramedics to check them all again, just in case). He probably thinks she wont want to jump right into a check-up, being poked and prodded by strangers, when she'd just been manically rambling about psychos and ghosts and monsters and people pulling guns on each other and- 

Even she knows that she sounds crazy. Disturbed. Looks it, too - the girl with tangled, matted hair, doused from head to toe in blood. Hands shaking, body trembling. Eyes wide and alert - blinking far too often. Unable to form a sentence without stumbling over her words because it's all working too fast- her mind, her mouth. She knows exactly what they put down on her file, when they had finished their line of questioning; when their eyebrows rose and their gazes shifted. When they exchanged weary glances. _Disbelieving_  glances. _Crazy._

Wilson smiles at her, squeezing her arm. She wishes it didn't feel patronising. "Maybe a coffee- or a hot chocolate? We could loan you a clean jacket too."  Even Ashley knows the blood is beginning to reek - congealing on her clothing, seeping into the fabric. The stain isn't going to come out, and they'll want to throw it away.

She cannot throw this night away.

He's waiting for a response, and so she simply nods. It isn't really a proper answer to his question but he seems to take it as the best he'll be getting any time soon. "Come on, little lady, let's get you in one of our jerseys." Wilson shuffles her  back towards the reception and then makes a sharp right; there's hustle and bustle going on towards the waiting room, but whatever it is, he directs her away before she can see it.

The store room is chilly, piled high with sealed boxes and containers and looking a little disused. Metal shelves overflowing with long-forgotten supplies. Wilson reaches into a torn-open box and passes her a jersey from inside it, not bothering to check the size; it's navy blue, and reminds Ashley of Matt's letterman jacket. Wilson smiles at her as he hands it over, and only then does she realise she's been speaking out loud. Awkwardly she smiles back, then casts her eyes to the floor to remove her bloodstained hoodie with unsteady hands. Sections of it stick to the red t-shirt beneath, but leave no mark, besides a faint, coppery reek that seems to have permeated the fabric. Permeated her very skin beneath, as well.

She wishes she could wash it off. Wash it all away.

"We'll give the hat a rinse too, if you like." Wilson reaches out to take it before Ash has even replied, so she hands her hat over with her hoodie, feeling uncomfortably exposed. The blood, dry and cracking against her face and in the tangles of her hair feels all too real now. Out of place. It had been almost like a uniform - the completion of some kind of image, wearing all that blood like armour. Something to prove what she had been through. Now... now it was just blood. Caked onto her face and flaking against her skin. Smeared across her mouth, where it leaves an unpleasant metallic taste on her tongue. _Horror incarnate_. 

As if sensing her sudden discomfort, Wilson helps her into the fresh jersey, taking her gloves from her in the process, and nods to the door opposite the store room - a restroom - gesturing her inside. She watches him deposit her belongings into a black plastic bag as he turns to go about his business whilst she cleans herself up, and doubts she'll ever see them again. She hears him call over his shoulder as she pushes through the bathroom door. "I'll wait right out here. Holler if you need me, alright?" 

The lights flicker into life, and her face is barely recognisable in the mirror; the stark blue and black swelling around her eye stands out harshly against the pale white of her cheek. Auburn hair clings to the dried blood splattered across her skin, clumping and matting where fluid and other remains have tangled within the follicles. There's a chunk of something - fleshy, solid - caught in the  matted mess sitting just above her right shoulder. It glistens in the artificial light, slimy, wet and- 

Ashley squeezes her eyes shut. Splashes ice-cold water across her face before the bile has time to force its way out of her stomach and up through her throat - takes several deep breaths - smoothes and rinses the offerings of the faucet through her hair. She briefly opens her eyes to watch, as cloudy pink droplets skitter across the white tiled floor beneath her feet and prays that should she close them again, such sights will have disappeared, by the time they reopen. Paper towels dye red against her cheeks as she scrubs at them hurriedly. Crimson catches under her nails. She all but dunks her hair under the spray of the faucet; combs desperately with her hands to rid herself of the stains. Clear it all away. Make it stop. _Pretend it never happened_.

The object tangled above her shoulder catches against her combing hand, as she squeezes her eyes shut tighter and tighter until shapes blur amongst the darkness. Her fingers tremble, trying to force the tangle free; coagulated blood and rotting flesh slip and slide beneath her fingertips and it's no use.

_It would be better to pretend that none of this had ever happened._

As she manages to rip the decaying chunk of pig-flesh from her hair, taking a painful knot of follicles along with it, Ashley vomits onto the bathroom floor - a few meagre mouthfuls of coffee - black and bitter - spilling past her lips. She clings to the wash basin, struggling to breathe. Hot tears burn her frozen cheeks and her lungs feel like they are on fire.

She _cannot_ forget it.

"Miss? Miss are you alright in there?" Incessant knocking at the door. She can't... she cannot move. "Miss?"

She _cant._  

Knocks on the door and her heart skips- skitters. Her stomach drops and she convulses - dry heaving into the basin. She can't move. Can hardly _breathe_. There's nothing left in her to come back up, and her throat feels raw; wretched. The metallic stench of blood is clinging to her like a second skin, twisting into the sudden reek of vomit and its nauseating. The knocking isn't stopping - fast and loud and she simply _cant._  Droplets of pink scatter with each shake and tremble of her body, painting the floor, the walls. Splattering across the mirror and distorting her image even further than the salty tears stinging at her eyes. The door rattles again and G _od_ , it's so _loud_. Too loud. _Too much._

When she looks up into the mirror, Josh is staring back at her - stomach gouged open at the middle. Intestines and blood spilling out onto the bathroom floor. 

Ashley screams.

"Ash?! Jesus, _Ash!_ " Matt. Matt's voice.  Matt's smell, Matt's arms. The slight coarseness of Matt's stubble against her forehead. Matt's letterman jacket - tattered and tarnished but _real._ She can barely even dare herself to believe it: _Matt was okay_. Matt was here now and alright and she had been _so sure_ that he must have- "What happened? Ashley... Your eye... What's wrong?" She doesn't know if she's speaking; if the noises escaping her gaping lips are coherent, or not. Doesn't know if Matt thinks her just as crazy as everyone else does, but that hardly matters. Matt is _alive_. Breathing and warm and holding onto her tightly; running his hands over her to check for injuries. His cologne masks the reek of blood that she can't seem to wash off, and reminds her of afternoons playing air hockey and arcade games. She clings tighter to the jacket she knows so well, and babbles into the fabric as she forces her cheek against it, shaking her head this way and that. She's telling him everything, even though she'd told the police officers all that she could just moments before; it seems more real, saying to Matt. Someone she knows. Someone who knows _her_ , and saw at least some of what had happened that night. Someone who _knew_. 

"You're _alive_ ", she says it over and over, muddled between her rambling. Matt was okay. Matt was alive by some wonderful miracle and _oh god,_ just for one more of them to have made it- one less body bag to see wheeled past that window-

The sobbing is only getting worse; her rib cage feels too big for her chest. She's hyperventilating and struggling to get enough air but she can't stop. It's all coming out of her like a flood. She tells Matt about Josh being the psycho, about how he had faked his death in the shed. How he had gutted pigs to use their innards, and rigged the whole thing up from old filming equipment. About how he had chased Sam down into the basement, and she and Chris had followed, horrified by what they might find. About the camera feeds around the lodge, and the recordings of the prank, playing over and over like some horrid pantomime: a reminder. About the Ouija board and the strange apparition which was probably all just part of Josh's prank but how it had scared her witless. About how she had stabbed Josh - the psycho - _Josh_ , and had frozen like a deer in the headlights, unable to move until he punched her and she fell unconscious. She tells him about how she had felt bone grate and crack against the blunted tip of the scissors when she plunged them into his shoulder. About how she and Chris had awoken, tied to chairs beneath a spinning saw blade, and were told that one of them would have to die for the other to live. 

The words stop coming out in any recognisable form as she explains through body-wracking sobs how Chris had refused to point the gun at her. How he had moved to aim it at his own head and how she had sobbed helplessly _because what was she supposed to do?_ She _knew_ she hadn't meant it when she asked him to shoot her instead - knew deep down that she didn't want to die in his place, and didn't really think he would do it. Had heard the words coming out of her own mouth, and known she didn't really think he would ever do it, and _yet_ - 

She whimpers about how Chris had been unable to pull the trigger in the end - how he had shot at the ceiling in hopeless frustration, and the two of them had accepted their fate. She couldn't blame him, even if she hadn't wanted to die.

She hadn't wanted to see him die, either.

_'Every second that I spent with you is the only thing I ever wanted to do with my time'._

She wants to see Chris.

"Right... _right_." Matt seems almost at a loss for what to do, but - diligent as ever - he has a plan close at hand. "Come on, we'll go get Chris, okay? Deep breaths Ashley." She hadn't meant to say that out loud, didn't realise she had done, but Matt's hands are soothing, rubbing circles across her back as he shifts her under his arm and promises that he'll walk her right back to the waiting room. Tucked safely under his larger frame, her trembling lessens. She's still rambling; babbling and muttering as she grips the sleeve of his jacket tightly, and she isn't sure what she's even saying. Upset does that, she knows; panic and fear and hurt muddle into one and coherent thought drowns under the weight of the waves crashing down. You say things  - do things - without realising. Without honestly believing what it is you're saying or doing. Like watching yourself on a silver screen. _Reading your life in a novel_. And you can't always take such things back, even if you didn't ever mean it. 

Emily appears like a ghost, haunting the back of her mind, and Ashley's knees feel weak.

_You just can't take some things back._

"Ash... you okay?" Matt gives her a squeeze, gently, arm around her ribs to keep her upright as he walks the both of them slowly out of the bathroom. She looks at him - a brief meeting of their eyes - and she cannot bear to hold the gaze. _Get out, just get out_. The floor offers her no judgement.  _It was her fault Em was dead._

"Y-yeah, I'm just..."

His smile is so soft and sympathetic that it hurts. "Yeah. Rough... rough night, huh?" Another squeeze, tighter this time. "But it's gonna be okay, Ash. Once the rescue crews find Mike and Em-" Had there been anything left in her stomach, Ashley knows it would have come up there and then. As it stands she unwillingly manages another dry-heave. Matt waits patiently for her to settle herself, before helping her through the doorway, his hands remain gentle; every press to urge her forward is far from a demand. He practically carries her under one arm, to keep her going. She doesn't deserve it, this kindness; if he knew what she had _done_...

"Yeah... yeah." She doesn't have the heart to say it. _Coward._  He looks so strong - solid and unbroken, and it wouldn't be fair. His shoulders are square, head held high, as he walks her to safety and security.

She can't take that from him.

One of them has to have made it out of this alright.

* * *

 Chris finds himself as one of the last of the group to be interviewed; probably, he thinks, as he sits on the uncomfortable metal chair and squints into the too-bright light shining directly onto his features, because they didn't want to risk upsetting Ashley by taking him away from her. She had been in a terrible state, when Matt walked her back through the waiting room door. Pale and shaking and not wanting to look at anyone, or do anything besides sit down next to Chris and just... stay there. Saying nothing. Or, perhaps, it was because he was one of the calmest of the group, and seemed capable of waiting; unlike Ash who had been unable to sit still or steady her trembling, and unlike Matt who - upon finding Emily absent from the station - had begun to pace and fidget - grow frustrated. Asking the officers where she was, and why no one was out looking for her. None of them had the nerve to say it to him; to tell him the truth of what had happened in the Lodge because... because _how did you do it?_  How could you tell someone that their girlfriend was dead, and at the hands of one of their own friends...? It was like something out of a movie. _Unreal._  None of them could look him in the eye, and when Sam, brave as ever, tried to bring it up - tried to utter the words, she was only able to get as far as mentioning Emily's name before Matt refused to hear it. 

Perhaps he had recognised the look in Sam's eye.

When he returned from his questioning, he stared at them all like he didn't know them any more. Didn't say a word before he moved to the corner farthest from any of their seats, and took up his own. When Ashley tried to say something - offer condolences, an apology - he cut her off by slamming his fist against the chair beside him. Looked around at them all with a gaze so venomous, that he barely looked like himself, and simply said; "If it had been anyone - _anyone_ besides Em - you never would have let Mike pull that trigger."

The guilt his words left behind hurt more than anything else ever could have. Silenced all protests and arguments.

Because - and Chris thinks this is the worst part of it all - maybe there's some truth in them.

He tries to push it from his mind. He's quite certain he's only taken in before Jess because they want to give the poor girl longer to recuperate some strength. The paramedic sent along with her and Matt to the station had been trying to gently ply some warm tomato soup upon her, when Chris had been called to the room at the back of the station. She hadn't looked happy about it, but Matt was no longer fighting her corner and it seemed she couldn't quite argue. Ash and Sam had holed up on one side of the room; Sam's idea, somewhere they could huddle together. Somewhere she might keep Ashley from thinking too much on Matt's words - keep her from replaying the events in the basement over and over again, muttering under her breath about how she should have kept her mouth shut. How she shouldn't have...

It hadn't been her fault. She hadn't pulled the trigger, and they had all agreed that Emily should be sent away from the group - fear was only natural when faced with something so strange... so monstrous.

They ask him about it all. Starting at the beginning. Starting one year in the past; things they should not have to dredge up again. "Where were you, when the Washington sisters left the lodge?" It's a question he had answered before. Over and over again. His response is automatic; the phrase  _'passed out with Josh'_ sounds like a track from a broken record by now. "Were you involved in the prank your friends played on Hannah Washington?" "Were you aware that the prank would be taking place?", his responses are firm. No, and nothing more. Their pens scribble. The light on the video camera is blinking at him; a little red dot in the dark, and then-

"Well, why then, would Josh... your best friend, include you in his own prank - his revenge - if you didn't play any part?"

It's a question that has been hounding Chris all night, and he cannot offer any answer.

_Because I didn't help them. Help him._

_Because I wasn't good enough._

The words stick on his tongue and he shakes his head. He can't say it. Can't let himself think that way because he's so close to breaking and he _knows_  it. Perhaps they know it, too.

They pry further - what had happened when he arrived at the lodge? How had Josh seemed to him? Ashley had said they played with a Ouija board, and it seemed to upset Josh - had they done that on purpose? Or had that, too, been part of Josh's game? When Ash had been knocked out, what happened to prevent him from helping her until she was already tied up in the shed? _Failure_ dances on their tongues, unsaid but ever present. He hears it there, hidden in their words, their line of questionning. Stumbles over explanations and excuses - he was knocked out, he didn't know where she'd been taken to, he'd had to follow the clues- 

Why did they return to the lodge instead of going with Matt and Emily to contact help? How did he feel, having watched his best friend die? They question his sentimentality - his attachment, for being able to carry on so readily after such a traumatic event - but they don't understand-

"I couldn't... I- I had to be strong for... for Ash and for Sam and-" He tries to explain; they thought the killer was in the house with Sam. They couldn't just leave her in there - _he_ couldn't just leave her in there... and he couldn't leave _Ashley_ on her own after all of that... The officers exchange glances, but continue their questioning, apparently satisfied. What had he and Ashley found in the Lodge? How did they end up tied up? What had he been planning to do with the gun? Did he honestly intend to let the both of them die? Was he not even a little inclined to spare himself?

How had it felt, to discover that Josh - _his best friend_ \- had been the one behind it all? That Josh had been the 'psycho'? That Josh had hurt him, Hurt his friends? _Hurt Ashley?_

 _Why_ had he and Mike taken Josh out to the shed? 

What had happened out there? It's okay, they insist. _He can tell them._

He tells them. They tied him up because he was... insane. _Delusional_. Incoherent and a danger to himself and others. He tells them how Mike was getting riled up - how Mike had the gun and he didn't know what would happen and Josh _wouldn't_  stop talking and-

_He hit Josh._

He can't talk about it; can't focus on it for too long because the guilt wells up in his chest and then everything is so _heavy_  and unclear, and it's like his brain is disconnecting to protect him from it all. It had done this at the lodge, too. After the Stranger had died in front of him - after Em had been shot... everything just shut down. They don't get it. Josh was losing it. Josh was trying to hurt them all. He _had_ to do it-

They move on; ask instead about the Stranger. Who was he? Did he want anything from them? Did he tell Chris anything about himself?

Was it him, who attacked and injured Emily? Was it him, who attacked Jess in the mines? Was he trying to get them all to leave the mountain, as he had done with the Washington family, before? The motive was there and clear.

Chris shakes his head, _everything feels so heavy_ , but he stumbles over his words and tries to formulate the right explanation even so; no, they had it wrong. The Stranger... he was trying to help. He was trying to protect them. He _saved_ Chris's life.

He died, and it was Chris's fault.

The guilt weighs heavier than ever before - enough that he can actually _feel_ it; a weight on his back, it makes him feel tired. Sluggish. They're asking too many questions and he's struggling to keep up with it all - mind working too slowly, failing to grasp the threads and understand the picture they are piecing together in their sceptic minds.

They don't get it. They don't believe that the Wendigo was real; that Hannah had survived the fall, and begun to devour her sister's remains out of desperation and fear of death. _Hope_ for survival. They don't believe that Josh had been killed by the creature out by the shed, or that Mike had found more of them - trapped by the Stranger - up at the Sanatorium. That the reason the Lodge had blown up - the Sanatorium too - was because they were trying to kill all of those monsters before _they_  were killed instead. They think this all to be the ramblings of some disturbed kids, likely suffering from a lapse in reality - the effects of drugs or alcohol or god knows what, on their memory a traumatic event. Some kind of strange fiction they had invented between them all, to mask the truth.

They aren't going to believe him no matter what he says, and that realisation leaves him feeling cold. Hopeless.

There's no point.

"Is there anything more you need to tell us, Mr Hartley?"

Chris looks up at them, their faces blurred behind the glare of the light shining in his face. He glances to the video camera, recording his every word; knows that they will watch this, over and over, tearing his words apart because they will never take them as truth.

"No... Nothing."

* * *

 Sam wishes she had been able to talk to her father; that she had been the one to break the news to him.

Their parents had all been contacted as soon as possible after their arrival at the station; once their names had been taken, and their details pulled up. Once all of them were together in one place again, and the Police were quite sure there were no more to come. Now that their interviews had all been completed however, the reality  of how cut off they were - and how lucky they had been to be able to contact anyone at all, up on that mountain, for help - was finally beginning to sink in. When it was explained to them how long it would take, it finally sank in. All a good five or six hours of driving away, and with no real means of getting to Blackwood County any faster, especially not with the weather as it was, none of the group had been told to expect a quick escape from police custody and into the comforting arms of their parents; but that didn't make the reality of the wait any less agonizing. They were all exhausted, broken. Wanting nothing more than to be _anywhere_ else. To be as far from that mountain as humanly possible.

It looms through the clouds beyond the window, smoke - black and thick - still rising from the Sanatorium and the Lodge. A grizzly reminder none of them could bear to look upon.

Sam knows how worried her father will be; how much of a hurry he will be in, to be by her side and to make sure she's alright.

She knows she will be, once he takes her away from here.

Matt has taken to brooding in the corner, refusing to talk to any of them unless absolutely necessary, but that at least means his anger isn't being hurled about the room any longer. That he isn't lashing out and making things worse for everyone. Jess is the only person he will even look at - drawn to her by a sense of obligation, Sam supposes. Every so often he tilts his head to glance her way; give her a once over, to be sure she is alright -doesn't need anything, and then his focus returns to the world beyond the blinded windows; to the few cars that occasionally pass through distant roads, and trees that sway in the wind. Chris, at one point, asks him what it is he's looking at, trying to fill the painful silence - but Matt offers no response. He doesn't ask again.

Jess sits closest to the door, where she can see the officers bustling around in the station beyond their small haven; Sam figures it's a way of maintaining a sense of security. She can see the people who are protecting her, and be sure that nothing else - no monstrous creatures - are approaching. The blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, pulled close to her neck, disguises the battered body beneath, and Sam wonders if she will ever be comfortable in herself again. Whether any of those scars will fade in time. It would be better for Jess, if they did, but after the night they had all had, it would be foolish to think life was so kind. Sam had overheard the yelling of Jessica's father down the phone line, when the officers had managed to reach him; when they had told him, roughly, what had happened - and she certainly didn't envy the officer who had to make that call.

Chris is sat on the floor once again, back to the wall, and his phone - now returned from the prying hands of the officers, and safely trapped in his own iron grip - charging through a port on the wall. There's just enough WiFi (Officer Smiles had developed enough sympathy for his charges to slip him the code when he had dismayed over the lack of 4G, quickly beginning to lose any of the excitement and energy the return of his phone had offered) for Chris to get his apps running; to check his emails and load social media and check, for certain, that a world outside this snowy mountain range still exists. His eyes are glued to the screen, and Sam is quite certain that - without the phone - Chris would not be holding up so well, having to wait like this. Having time to think.

Ash is beside him on the floor - leaning against his arm, her eyes follow his actions on the screen, though whether or not she is actually paying attention is anyone's guess. She isn't muttering under her breath now, but her hands still tremble when she moves them, and she fidgets restlessly; her feet are tucked under herself, trapped to keep them still. Any noise from outside causes her to jump, jolting like a startled rabbit, and the officers that enter the room every forty minutes or so to offer them refills on their hot drinks, or anything else they might need, glance at her with unmasked concern. Wilson had come in at one point, and asked her if she wanted to speak to one of their trained psychiatric specialists; they could bring him over from the hospital in twenty minutes if she wanted. She didn't.

Sam can't blame her. It wasn't like anyone was ever truly going to believe what they had said, much as _they_ all knew it to be the truth.

Sam herself is... she's fine; perhaps that should be worrying in itself. Looking at the state of everyone else, she wonders if it says something terrible about her, that she's fine after all that they had been through... but the simple fact remains that she _is_. She's thinking rationally, calmly. _Realistically_. She knows her father will arrive with a thousand and one questions that she won't want to answer, and already knows what to say to avoid the awkwardness. She knows the police will follow up their queries in a matter of days, if they are even offered _that_ long of a reprieve from their scrutiny and questioning. She knows, as well, that it will be a long, long time before they are allowed - or given the permission to - forget what had happened to them tonight. 

She doesn't plan on doing so anyway. Not ever.

A glance at the clock warns her that it will be another two hours at least before any of their guardians arrive; presuming there is nothing to delay their journeys. 

The room around her remains quiet as the grave.

It's going to be a long wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for getting this far <3 Honestly, this fic is getting WAY out of hand - I originally intended it to be two chapters at most, and now it's looking to be... well, safe to say that it's going to be longer than that. 
> 
> They were meant to have left the station by now haha, but I guess that's now for the next chapter. Family and home, and the support - or lack thereof - they offer, are the focus next time. That's been particularly interesting to explore (especially when having to create a home-environment based on character traits we witness and learn in-game). Post chapter three the timeline between segments is going to jump around a lot more, too. 
> 
> I'm hoping not to exceed six chapters with this one, but we'll see!


End file.
